
of tl)e Ipinas 
Otl)er "poems 

"^Y '3florftitcft "Parker 



Song 

of tbe 

Otl)er 
"poems 

Tlortnce 'barker 



SaU 1ak« Citf, Ktab 










o. C^^'^ 



GU4111^8 



AUG -3 1915 



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OUT in the open we're singing, 
Out in the spaces of spaces ; 
Fresh is the wind from the foothills 

Blowing spring rain in our faces ; 
Out to the rim of the sky line 
You and I in our places. 



To 
F. E. P. 



SONG OP THE PINES. 

NJ^HEN my trail stretches out 'iieath the 
^^ glarin' skies 

O'er the reach of sage and the yellow sand, 
Where the cringin' hills of the desert lies 

On the empty way of the barren land — 
Then my heart cries out for the rugged rim 

Of the mighty hills and the coolin' breeze 
Up the dark old trail that's windin' dim 

And the glad free song oif the tall pine trees. 

When I'm in the rush of stampeedin' feet 

On the city's way with its gain and loss, 
'Mongst the glitterin' lights on the glarin' 
streets — 
Then my head swims round like a locoed 
boss. 
There the empty laugh and the starin' eye, 
The under sob like a lone wolf's whine. 
They make me long for the open sky 

And the sweet clean song of the stunted 
pine. 

When my heart is glad and I'm feelin' gay 

As a yearlin' colt on a widenin' plain, 
Then the pines they sing thru the sunny day 

Of the breezy hills and the freshenin' rain. 
If I'm lonesome, sick or a feelin' blue 

And all run down at the heel. 
The pines sigh low like they're sorrowful, too. 

And seem to know just how I feel. 



When the sun gets over the Western bars 

And night's all 'round so deep and dark, 
I lie on my back a-watchin' the stars 

And my campfire dies out spark by spark. 
An owl hoots 'neath the risin' moon — 

A coyote yelps — then all is still, 
'Cept the pines keep a singin' a drowsy tune 

Whisperin', ''Sleep, go to sleep, Pardner 
Bill." 




BREAKING THE NEWS. 

Ti#^ E was her man, so she 's gotter be told ; 

^ *" But, somehow, I ain 't got the heart, 
Fer the things I should say are the things that 
alway 
Stick in my throat when I start. 
Yet she's gotter be told; but, my God ! I can't, 

Fer my voice is trembly and weak; 
There'll be the look in her eye and the ques- 
tion why, 
And the grief that won't let her speak. 

He was my pard, and we worked in the mine, 

In the drippin', the damp and the dark 
Fer many a year and many a year 

'Til we knowed each one by heart. 
He was as good as the gold 'at we dug, 

His life was clear and was clean. 
And he never did a thing to be hid 

Or was ugly, low or mean. 

When the work was done we'd go to the shack. 

We'd cook our grub and then 
We'd play King Pete 'til one got beat 

Or would win his pile again. 
And we'd play cards way into the night 

By the light of the sputterin' glim 
And somehow each knew in the way men do 

01 the love 'tween me and him. 

Then one day he married a gal 

Who came from a city place ; 
She was kinder small and not very tnll. 

But the Avoman showed in her face. 
He worked fer her the hull day long 

And he worked as a strong man can, 
For his love was as true as the steel is blue 

And she knowed and could understand. 



'Twas quittin' time and I'd left the di-ift 

And he was down there alone, 
When I heard a din as the walls caved in 

And covered him up with the stone. 
I dug him out from the dirt and the rock ; 

There was a bruise on his head; 
He was limp and weak and he didn't speak, 

And God ! I see 'd he was dead ! 

I couldn't believe and I wouldn't believe 

Yet my eyes they leaked and you see 
I tried to choke down the lump in my throat, 

Fer God! how could it be? 
How could it be and why should it be? 

Yet I know too well it is so, 
And it's makin' it hard 'cause I was his pard, 

And she was his gal, you know. 

I see her a-standin' at the shack door 

With the tot a-clutchin' her skirt; — 
There's the look in her eye and she's wonderin' 
why 

Her man doesn't come from work. 
What did you say? You'd tell her fer me? 

God bless you and help you, my man. 
It happened that way, so whatever you say, 

Just tell it the best that you can. 



SMILE, BURN YE, SMILE. 

Smile, durn ye, smile ! 
There's no use to sit and pout 
And have the corners of your mouth 
Pulled down. 

Come now, cheer up; that's it, grin, 
For you know it is a sin 
To frown. 

There's no good from actin' sad. 
Why, the world is bubblin' glad 
All the while. 

No one cares for sour folks, 
Grot no time for one who mopes, 
So smile. 

Spring is here with merry rills, 
Calves a-friskin' on the hills 
All the day. 

Birds a-singin' as of old, 
Dandelions with "faces gold 
'Long the way. 

Come now, cheer up, just be glad, 
Things are not near half so bad 
As you think. 

Don't you know an ugly grouch 
Spoils the curvin's of your mouth 
In a wink? 

The face is but a lookin' glass 
Where the secret thinkin 's pass 
To and fro. 

Sadness, sorrow, hate, despair, 
Leave their ugly markin's there 
And will show. 



When you keep a smilin ' face 
All the world's a brighter place, 
Life 's worth while, 
So from this time on begin 
To stretch out a happy grin 
For a mile. 

If you feel a-eomin' pout 
Just stir yourself and shout, 
''Smile, durn ye, smile!" 



THE CALL OP THE WEST, 

The evening breeze thru the tall fir trees 

\Yhispers the Call of the West — 
The voice is sweet with love that's deep 

Of dreams hid in her breast. 
The glad free winds bear the song she sings, 

And a message is hidden there ; 
'Tis carried across the Great Divide 
To frozen plains all white and wide 

And rests on the northern air. 

Her sunset gleams spoil his winter dreams 

And he wakes by the Call of the West, 
For a sweetheart bold with a realm of gold 

Is a sweetheart that is best. 
With Nature 's wiles and sunny smiles 

She woos with a heart that 's true, 
And once you're clasped in her embrace 
There is on earth no other place 

That is so dear to you. 

For the sun seems sweet in the deep hot creek 

Where the gold is washed from the sands. 
And the forests hold a charm untold 

As it stretches out its hands. 
The evening star guards from afar 

'Twixt twilight and moonlight, 
AVhile over the crest of the blue rimmed hill 
Whispers a voice that sends a thrill 

Thru the shadowy haunts of night. 



The East has heard — by the voice is stirred — 

And lists to the wooing song; 
Of life it tells where the cliff goat dwells 

And the nights are cool and long. 
O, Eastern bowers of tall grim towers ! 

Where toils and regrets fain dwell, 
0, give a day of your book-filled dreams 
For joy and love where her mountain streams 

Dash from its wildwood dell. 

When morning breaks the South awakes, 

Then flees her lotus dreams ; 
A strong wind dips to kiss her lips 

And tell by Dawn's first beams, 
Where heart and soul of mountains roll 

*Til capped in silvered snow — 
Where rocks are laced with clinging vines 
And tall dim colonnade of pines 

Is fringed by ferns below. 

No cyclone's storm has waked or torn 

The rest that the forests hold ; 
But low clouds blush in sundown's hush 

'er harvest fields o^f gold. 
There's a mystic lure in a love so pure — 

And they come in arduous quest 
Out to the lands of ownerless plains, 
Out to the wooded homestead claims, 

To answer the Call of the West,. 



MY BROTHER JIM. 

N J OU don't know my brother Jim? 
^y^ Looks like me 'cept he's slim 

And kind of pale and tall. 
Me and him are twins, you see, 
But somehow it 'pears to me 

He's the oldest after all. 
But I don 't know, f er Paw swears 
1 am older, while Maw 'clars 

Jim is. But I say 
Maw is right, fer Jim seems old 
And knows a heap more than what's told 

In hooks. And he can play 
The organ great. Sometimes at night 
When we are sittin' round the light 

Jim will play and sing; 
And he just seems to sing to Maw 
And doesn't know if me and Paw 

Are there a-listenin'. 
When he plays so soft and sweet 
]VIaw's eyes are always bound to leak 

And tears fall on her hand. 
Then me and Paw, we just surmise 
We haven't seen, but why Maw cries 

I can't understand. 



Somehow Jim makes me think of girls; 
He'll never go a-hiintin' squirrels 

Or shootin' grouse, 
But fusses in the pansy bed 
Or helps Maw fix her scrap piece spread 

In the house. 
Why lots of times when me and Paw 
Goes a-fishin' up the draw 

He never goes, 
But stays and helps Maw churn and sc-ru]> 
Or fix the settin' hen or rub 

And rinse the clothes. 
Paw says because I do the chores 
And always help him out of doors 

That I 'm his man ; 
And Maw says 'cause Jim sweeps the floor 
And does a thousand things or more 

He is her man. 
He ought to be a girl, I guess, 
But don't you think there's sissiness 

At all in him. 
Although he's still and sometimes queer 
You'll find that when you come down here 

You'll like Jim. - 



